Strikers in the TARDIS
by vcrizzle
Summary: Fans of hankgames-without-Hank know that Manager John Green was fired from the FIFA 13 Swoodilypoopers and, accompanied by strikers John Green and John Green, moved on to coaching the FIFA 14 Wimbly Womblys. But what happened during the transition between universes? Warning: not Brit-picked.
1. Chapter 1

Part I

xxx

Teaser:

"_John, John and I aren't human."_

xxx

"Those were some great goals you scored, John!"

The Swoodilypoopers were coming into the locker room after the playoff game against Reading. They'd been stuck at a 1 – 1 tie right up until the 90th minute, when Other John Green kicked the ball into the back of the net.

"Thanks, Andy, but it was definitely a team effort," answered John, smiling. "I couldn't have scored that second goal without your help. Not to mention Lee's brilliant assist on the first one!" The other Swoodilypoopers agreed, thumping their strikers on the back.

"You know, I used to be jealous of your ability to score more than occasionally, but it's worth it just to see your celebrations. The 'robot' never gets old!" said Leeroy.

"I like it when you score, Lee, because then Manager John won't stop singing that song about you," Wes taunted. Leeroy threw his sweaty jersey at him.

"At least I'm not nicknamed after both a Star Trek character and a children's book…"

"Come on boys, let's get cleaned up quick so we can go celebrate at The Giraffe's Head!" interrupted Ginger Rampage. "Championship Final, here we come! First round's on me!" This was met with cheers from everyone (other than Maric, who just grinned).

The excitement was interrupted by Manager John stepping into the locker room. One by one, the players grew quiet as they noticed him. Usually, John was loud and ecstatic after a win. He would sing songs and make up cheers for the guys who played particularly well. But today, John was standing still—head hung, shoulders slumped, and completely silent. Even puff levels were unprecedentedly high.

"Um, coach?" Lee said tentatively, stepping towards him. "You all right?"

Manager John took a deep breath, opened his mouth as if to speak, then sighed and shook his head.

"Look, there's something wrong. Just tell us what happened." Other John's voice was gentle, but firm. Manager John somberly looked up at all of the players.

"All right then. I guess now's a good a time to tell you as any. I had a meeting with the owner of the team, and, uh, I'm uh…well, I've got some news."

The squad exchanged puzzled looks. What could he be talking about?

"It's been decided that regardless of the outcome of our next match, I will not be manager of the Swindon Town Swoodilypoopers next season." Surprised gasps and cries of dismay filled the locker room.

"What the heck!" exclaimed Mionel. "They can't kick you out! We just won a game!"

"Doesn't matter. I'm fired. I'm—I'm—" Manager John blinked away tears. "I'm gone after next week."

"We can't allow this," Ginger said angrily, crossing his arms.

"Yeah, you're the only manager who's never made fun of my hair!" said Andy. Several other players frowned at him. "Oh, and you're great at coaching, too."

"Look, that's football. Coaches come and go. Not much I can do." John sighed. "Just promise me that you'll do your best at the next game." Everyone agreed solemnly.

"Come The Giraffe's Head with us," offered Groberts. "Ginger's buying. Let's drink away the pain!"

"Nah, I need to pack my stuff and get home to my family. But thanks." Manager John turned and left the locker room. Immediately, the Swoodilypoopers began speculating as to the reason for John's departure—all except Other John and Lee. They exchanged knowing glances, knowing what they had to do.

xxx

Manager John was packing up folders and books in his office.

"I never realized how much crap I've been keeping in here," he said to himself. "Especially considering that this isn't even my universe." His musings were interrupted by a knock.

"Come in!"

The door opened to reveal Other John Green and Leeroy Williamson. They were showered and changed, but still wore the same concerned expressions as before.

"Oh, hello boys," said Manager John. "Nice to see you; sit down." Other John and Lee stepped in and sat in the chairs opposite their coach's desk.

"Coach, I think you know why we're here—" began Other John.

"Congratulations on your goals today," interrupted Manager John. "I'm impressed by your ability to get the ball in the back of the net 10 times out of 10." Other John raised his eyebrows. "OK, yes, I know why you're here," conceded Manager John, sighing heavily.

"Look, if it were any other coach, we wouldn't be so surprised," said Leeroy. "This sort of thing happens sometimes. But our situation is…" He frowned, trying to think of the right way to frame his thoughts.

"…special," continued Other John. "A few months ago, you told us about how we're in a reality separate from yours. You've shown us YouTube videos of a Swindon Town from another universe. We traveled to this universe in a TARDIS from an earlier version of FIFA, for crying out loud! This shouldn't be happening!"

"I play FIFA all the time," added Leeroy. "You really have to put in some effort to get fired."

"I know, I know," said Manager John. "It's just—look, things aren't as straightforward as they seem."

"What do you mean?" asked Leeroy.

"Well for one thing, the owner thinks it's my fault Bald John left."

Other John's face darkened.

"That decision had nothing to do with your skills as a manager! John and I need to invest in our future, and he just couldn't pass up the opportunity. We have to think of our family!"

"Doesn't matter—I'm still getting the blame for it," answered Manager John. "And there are other things…you may have noticed that we have quite a few players in this universe's Swindon that were also on the previous squad."

"Yeah, Maric and Fitz and Ginger!" Lee interrupted excitedly. "And Beefstock's cousin Bostock. It's been fun having them back on the team, even though they don't remember the great times we had back in FIFA 11."

"Well, it's been pretty expensive trying to get them back," sighed Manager John. "Between that and buying as many gingers and players with cool names as possible, I've kind of used up most of the team's budget for the year. I just wish I'd listened to you and your husband, John."

"Yeah, that was an awkward argument Bald John and I had with you, remember? We hated to be mean, but you'd been acting so weird and we didn't want something like this to happen."

"Yes, yes, I remember."

"What?" Leeroy looked shocked at the idea of the Johns fighting.

"The Johns confronted me about my coaching style this season and I took it pretty badly. But looking back, not only did they mean well, they were right."

"Your actions _have_ gotten more and more eccentric, to be honest," Leeroy admitted. "Like, no offense to Dawson and Bedwell, but I was surprised to see that you worked so hard to acquire them…" Leeroy trailed off.

"Yeah, I did not get them for the skill level. They're like, a 54 and a 45. I just couldn't resist Dawson's hair and Bedwell's name!"

Leeroy guffawed.

"You put in all that money and effort for a 54 and a 45? You _are_ bad at FIFA!" Other John glared at Leeroy, who immediately stopped laughing.

"Thanks," said Manager John sarcastically.

"It's true, though," said Other John. "To be completely honest, it's ridiculous when you start players just because of the color of their hair and say it's because they have heart. Or choose to play old Swoodilypoopers because you hate change, not because they're actually good. Change is inevitable, John. I understand your resistance, but you still made a lot of mistakes."

"Well, the club owner certainly didn't understand me," answered Manager John, shrugging.

"You were trying to put the previous lineup together and get back the good old days," said Other John kindly. "I get it. But this is a different world, a different team. You'll never have the old Swoodilypoopers back."

"I know. I didn't act in the best interest of the club, and now I feel really bad about that. I just got so caught up in the narrative and in recreating the past…" Manager John picked up his framed picture of the FIFA 11 Swoodilypoopers' celebratory FA cup pose, smiling sadly.

"Could've been worse though—at least you didn't end up shot dead in a swimming pool," quipped Other John.

"Huh?" Leeroy looked confused.

"Look," Manager John said with finality. "I'm going to be OK. I've got lots of other things going on. I'm not _just_ defined by this job. I'm a novelist. I make vlogbrothers videos. I'm an amateur historian on Crash Course. So, there's a lot of different things I can do; this is not the end for me."

"But what about us? And what about the fans?" cried Leeroy. "Before you and Other John and Bald John joined the Swoodilypoopers, our team lacked heart! You three led us to glory for years, from the bottom of League Two to winning the FA Cup! You've made some bad decisions in this universe, but you can't just give up now!"

"No. Getting fired has made me realize that I should've left long ago. I shouldn't have even tried to coach the Swoodilypoopers in this universe." Taking a deep breath, Manager John continued. "You boys are better off without me and my stupid songs." He hung his head in shame. Other John reached across the desk and took Manager John's hand in his.

"Maybe what you need is to start over," he said. "Bald John has been telling me about AFC Wimbledon and the situation there." At this, Manager John looked up.

"I've heard very good things about them," he said. "Their history is fascinating and their fans are great. And any team with a Womble as a mascot has my support."

"Exactly," said Other John. "Bald John loves it there. He says they've got heart, which I know is a quality you value. What if you got a fresh start coaching a new team?"

"Hmm, I don't know…" Manager John said doubtfully, shaking his head. "Why would anyone want me now?"

"You've told us how, in your universe, there are many fans of our team, even though they can only watch us on YouTube, and how people who weren't interested in football before are now following your universe's Swindon," said Leeroy. "What if you use this new start to support Wimbledon?"

"Yeah," Other John said. "Bald John has told me that the club is always short on funds because they are owned wholly by their fans."

"Hmm," mused Manager John. "So I could use the FIFA 14 AFC Wimbledon team to drum up support for the real-life—I mean, alternate universe—AFC Wimbledon. The nerdfighters would love that team!"

"The what-fighters?" asked Leeroy.

"All ad revenue can go to sponsoring the actual AFC Wimbledon team! We can have billboards in the stadium, and ads in the program, all designed by nerdfighters!" Manager John was getting excited.

"Uh, coach…" said Other John.

"We can help this team that mirrors the values of Nerdfighteria stay in the football leagues so I can play with them in FIFA 15 and FIFA 16 and beyond!"

Leeroy and Other John smiled as Manager John got lost in his new dream—this was the coach they knew and loved.

"…and maybe one day we could send them to the Premier League! It's a long shot, but with heart, tenacity, and proper use of the Y button, anything is possible!" Manager John was beaming. "Thanks, guys. I really appreciate it."

"No problem," said Lee happily. He wasn't quite sure what John was dreaming up this time, but at least he was back to his old self.

Manager John turned to Other John.

"Do you and Bald John still have that TARDIS?"

"Yeah, of course," answered Other John. "We haven't used her in a while, and she's stuck back in that weird police box form, but she should be working fine."

"Perfect! Pack your bags, boys. Next week, we're going to FIFA 14!"

xxx

"Ugh, I never imagined my career ending like this." Despite their resolve to win big for their last game with John as their manager, the Swoodilypoopers suffered a humiliating loss at the hands of Southampton. John's head hit the desk. "Ow! Dammit!"

"Um, coach? You OK?" A beautiful bald head peeked through the door to the former coach's office. John looked up and immediately jumped from his chair.

"Bald John Green!" he cried, embracing the taller man. "It's so good to see you! Come in! Ooo, I love the goatee!"

"Thanks, John! It's a bit of an experiment—I still don't know how I feel about it." Bald John walked into the office, followed by Leeroy.

"How's AFC Wimbledon?" Manager John asked.

"Well, if all goes right, you'll find out soon," answered Bald John.

"And where's your better half? Don't tell me he's gotten cold feet," said Manager John.

"Don't worry—he went home to get the TARDIS. He should be back here any minute." There was a brief pause, then Leeroy spoke up.

"Coach, I just want to say sorry from the whole team for our performance today. I know you wanted to go out with a win, and—"

"It's OK," Manager John interrupted. "You boys tried, and that's what matters. And who knows, maybe the next coach will lead this Swindon Town to victory, and that's what matters. I just wish I could keep up on how this team is doing once I'm gone."

"Well, I can keep you updated," Leeroy said.

"What? You're not coming?" Manager John was shocked.

"That's right. It'll just be John and I moving to AFC Wimbledon," said Bald John.

"I'm human, which means I can't safely make the journey between worlds." Leeroy shrugged, trying to hide his disappointment. "I'm only here to say goodbye."

"But you managed to move between FIFA 11 and FIFA 13 just fine! And what do you mean, 'human?' Bald John and Other John are human, too!"

Bald John rolled his eyes. "John, John and I aren't human."

"_What?_"

"Um, coach, the Johns are Time Lords," Leeroy answered. "Even I know that."

"Where did you think we got a TARDIS?" asked Bald John. "Speak of the devil…" Vworping filled the room as a police box slowly appeared in a corner.

"Wait, wait, I have questions—most importantly, _how are your skill levels not over 100_ if you're superhuman?"

The door to the TARDIS opened and Other John popped out.

"John, are you ready to go?"

Bald John held up a duffel bag.

Manager John turned to Leeroy.

"I still don't understand why you can't come too. We need you on the team!"

"It turns out that the last trip took a heavy toll on my timeline and Reapers will get me if I do it again, or something like that. It's too risky for me to go to a parallel so soon. I don't really understand how it works." Leeroy blinked back a tear. "It's all…how did you describe it?" He turned to Bald John and Other John.

"Wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey," they answered in unison.

"We'll miss you, Leeroy, but it's good to know we're leaving the Swoodilypoopers in good hands," said Other John, patting his ex-teammate on the back.

"No. No! He has to come with us—" Manager John stopped himself. "No. I have to let go of the past. Leeroy, take care of the Swoodilypoopers. My blood will always be Swindon-red and I'll miss you all," Manager John said.

Leeroy nodded emphatically. "I better go before I really start crying—" his voice broke. "We've had some good years." He shook Manager John's hand then left the office. Bald John turned to Manager John.

"John, we're good, right? Last time we saw each other, I was a bit…harsh."

"John, we're more than good. We're great," answered Manager John. "I've even decided that I'm taking my favorite strikers' advice and embracing change. I guess I'll see you on the other side, then."

"Can't wait," Other John said, winking. "See you soon!"

Manager John watched as the husbands entered the TARDIS. A few moments after the door closed, the police box faded away.

"Hmm, wibbly-wobbly, Wimbledon Wombles…" John thought for a moment. "Wimbly Womblys. I like it."


	2. Chapter 2

Part II

xxx

Teaser:

"_John Green and John Green are hereby charged with war crimes…"_

xxx

The TARDIS orbited Earth as the Johns prepared for travel between dimensions. They ran around pulling levers, pushing buttons, and twisting handles all over the TARDIS console. Finally, everything was set.

"Good luck kiss?" asked Bald John.

"Always," answered Other John, giving him a quick peck. "Wow, that goatee tickles." They each put a hand on the final lever and threw it at the same time.

But then, something went horribly wrong. After a few seconds of the vworping and slight shuddering they had come to expect, the Johns heard loud crashing and screeching noises. The TARDIS shook harder than she ever had before.

"John?" Other John yelled over the noise. "What's going on?"

"I don't know, but it can't be good!" Bald John yelled back. "We need to at least start by resetting the inertial dampeners."

"Where are they? I can't remember having to mess with them before."

"Don't worry, I've got it." Bald John ran down the stairs and under the console, clinging to the railing to keep his balance. Other John watched as his husband found the right switches. The TARDIS slowly stabilized as he reset each dampener. Bald John sighed with relief, went back up the stairs, and sat next to Other John on the floor.

"What the hell," he said. "This was _not_ supposed to happen."

"What do we do now?" exclaimed Other John. "I'm no expert in dimensional travel—there's a reason I left Gallifrey for Swindon."

"I'm sure everything will be fine," said Bald John. "We just need to figure out where we are, when we are, what the problem is, and find the solution."

"That easy?"

"Hey now." Bald John pouted playfully. The two of them hugged for a moment, relishing the relative calm.

"OK, let's figure out our location." Bald John stood up and checked one of the monitors. "What?" he muttered.

"What is it?" asked Other John. He looked up at the monitor. "'Data unavailable'? What is that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know! I've never heard of this happening before!"

"Well, to be fair, you've spent most of your adult life as a professional football player, so…"

"But still, we should be seeing _something_. Look: none of the instruments are detecting anything." Bald John shook his head in disappointment. "How did this happen?"

Suddenly, a loud zapping sound filled the air.

"I am Staal of Sontar. Separate from each other. You will surrender immediately."

"Who are you? How did you get in here?" demanded Other John. Some sort of…creature…had just joined the Johns in the TARDIS. He was short, wore a red and white space suit with yellow emblems, and had an odd potato-shaped head. Most importantly, he had a huge weapon aimed at the two men.

"Um, sure, we can separate," said Bald John, stepping away from Other John and putting his hands in the air. Other John followed his example.

"You and your vessel are now the property of the Sontaran Empire," yelled Staal. "You will now be boarded and imprisoned."

"Whoa, whoa," Bald John exclaimed. "Can you just tell us what's going on? We don't want to pick a fight. You can have the TARDIS; we just want to get to our universe. I'm sure we can work something out."

"John," whispered Other John. "I don't think this guy will listen to reason. He looks like Buzz Lightyear, for godssake!"

"Enough!" Staal interrupted. "We have already inactivated all of your ship's sensors. Disable the shields and weapons systems."

"We don't have any," said Other John.

"That's right," continued Bald John. "There's only a weak force field that keeps the vortex out when we're making long trips."

"Disable it!" screamed Staal. "Or your companion will be destroyed!" He fired his weapon at one of the bulkheads. The Johns watched in horror as it immediately exploded, sending fire and debris flying.

"All right, all right," said Bald John, trying not to panic. He pushed a few buttons on the console. "There, it's off. Now can you tell us what's happening?" Staal ignored him and tapped a communicator on his chest.

"All defense systems have been shut down," Staal barked. "Take the vessel in and transport us out."

A few seconds later, the Johns found themselves in a completely different place. They were standing before a group of aliens that looked exactly like Staal, all armed to the teeth and all wearing red and white space suits.

"What's happening? Why have you taken us prisoner?" demanded Other John.

"You are the creatures referred to as 'Other John Green' and 'Bald John Green,' are you not?" demanded one of the Sontarans.

"That's right," said Other John.

"And you are on course to the FIFA 14 universe?"

"Well, yeah," answered Bald John.

"Then you will be guilty of criminal offenses against the Sontaran Empire and must be imprisoned."

"Wait—we _will be_ guilty? Of what?" asked Other John. "We deserve to know what we are supposed to do wrong before you stick us in jail."

The Sontaran pulled out a small tablet.

"John Green and John Green are hereby charged with war crimes against an ally of the Sontaran Empire."

"_What?_" both Johns exclaimed.

"Enough!" yelled a third Sontaran. "Lead the prisoners to their cells, where they will spend the rest of their pathetic lives!"

"What the f—"

Suddenly, there was a crackling noise and puff of smoke. When the air cleared, they saw…Fat Lucas?

xxx

"Hang on, boys!" cried Fat Lucas, and before the Sontarans' stunned eyes, he pulled both Johns close and tapped a button on a device strapped to his wrist.

Another loud crackle filled the Johns' ears as their surroundings faded away. They looked around; apparently, they had transported into some sort of supply closet.

"Shh, keep quiet," said Fat Lucas. "We're not out of danger yet."

"Can _you_ tell us what's going on?" asked Other John. "First the TARDIS malfunctions for the first time since we've had her, then we're taken prisoner by candy cane potato men, then you show up?"

"Also, do you have a way for us to escape?" added Bald John. The husbands looked at Fat Lucas expectantly.

"I'll do my best to explain, but I can't promise it'll make sense," answered Fat Lucas. "Long story short, you've just been kidnapped by an alien race of warrior clones called Sontarans. They found out that you two and Manager John will lead AFC Wimbledon to victory and eventually bring about a golden age for humanity, so they've decided to just get rid of you now to prevent this future from happening. They used an interuniverse tractor beam to trap you in some sort of dimensional limbo. I've been sent back from 2033 to help you escape and keep you on track."

Other John and Bald John gaped at Fat Lucas. Bald John was the first to find words.

"Golden age of humanity? What?"

"Yeah. It's kinda complicated, but basically the story and values of the AFC Wimbledon Wimbly Womblys became so inspirational that Earth sorts out its problems. War, poverty, and crime have ceased to exist. Equality and love are universal. And scientific discovery has advanced exponentially, which is how I'm here."

"I was wondering about that," Other John said, looking Fat Lucas up and down. The former goalie's body was no longer defined by its significant girth. Instead, he was trim and muscular, and, if anything, looked younger. "What should I call you now, 'Thin Lucas'?"

"Actually, everyone calls me 'Fit Lucas' now," he answered cheekily. ("I'm still calling him 'Fat Lucas'," Other John whispered to Bald John.) "Everyone looks younger and fitter now. But I meant the whole time travel thing." He pointed at the device on his wrist. "This is a vortex manipulator. It's a form of quick and dirty space-time travel. Terrible for cardiovascular health, but we should be fine if we don't use it too many more times. I would've brought some for you guys to use but the long journey to your universe would destroy your Time Lord hearts."

"Wow, I didn't think humans would ever figure out how to travel through time," mused Bald John. "Not to mention the whole utopian world thing."

"But why do these Sontaran guys care about Earth becoming a better planet? And why did they accuse us of war crimes?" asked Other John.

"Oh, that." Fat Lucas rolled his eyes. "Turns out Sontarans love English football—they think it's how humans wage war—and are _huge_ Manchester United fans. They've been getting furious over AFC Wimbledon winning most competitions and they blame the club for Man United's humiliating defeats and relegation to League Two over the past few seasons. This year, they traveled to Earth to destroy AFC Wimbledon, but couldn't get past the planet-wide force field we installed in 2018. Their solution was to go back in time and get rid of the guys who first led the Wimbly Womblys to victory."

"The what?" interrupted Other John.

"Wimbly Womblys. It's what Manager John will call the team. You know how he gets with nicknames."

"Right. OK. Wow." Bald John shook his head, trying to make sense of it all.

"Look, I know this is a lot to take in, but the important thing is to get you two back on the TARDIS so you can make the right future happen."

"You better have a plan, Lucas. Things are sounding pretty bleak."

"Well, the good news is that the TARDIS isn't permanently damaged and it shouldn't be too hard for you to board her again and get moving. The bad news is that the cargo bay where they're keeping her is crawling with Sontarans."

Other John groaned.

"But it's OK! Because the Sontarans've got one hell of a weakness," said Fat Lucas. "They have a little air vent thing on the small of their backs, which is how they breathe. Hit them right there and they're disabled for a good minute or two. Use a shoe, hand, truncheon—any tap'll do."

"Right," Bald John said. "Can we catch our breaths first?"

"Sure, take a minute." I'll recalibrate the vortex manipulator to transport us to the bay where they're keeping the TARDIS."

As Fat Lucas messed with the vortex manipulator, Bald John and Other John turned to each other.

"John, is this some sort of dream?" Other John asked.

"I don't even know. Feels real enough." Bald John paused, and then continued, whispering. "Honestly, what I find weirdest of all isn't that we were held prisoner by crazed Man United-loving potatoes, or even that a hot version of our old assistant coach is here to save the day. It's that we will supposedly bring about some sort of new world order."

"Exactly! We're just football players. I mean, we're really good at what we do, but I never envisioned us doing Nobel Peace Prize-worthy work." Other John sighed. "Maybe it's best not to think of all this and just focus on getting out of here."

"Come on, boys, we need to get going," said Fat Lucas. "Hold on!"

The Johns grabbed his arms as Fat Lucas punched the final digits into the manipulator. Time to kick some Sontaran butts.

xxx

Fat Lucas, Other John, and Bald John materialized behind a stack of crates near the wall of a storage bay. In the center of the room was their beloved TARDIS, surrounded by dozens of Sontarans. The little aliens were dropping shiny red spheres in strategic locations all over the floor around the TARDIS.

"The force field generator is over there," said Fat Lucas, pointing at a workstation a few meters away. "I'll disable the force field; you guys fight your way through. But make it quick—those are trellium spheres there on the ground and in a few minutes, they'll create an even stronger fence around the TARDIS that'll make it impossible to escape."

"But what about you?" asked Other John.

"I'll be fine. I've got this thing, remember?" Fat Lucas tapped on the vortex manipulator. "Ready?"

"About as ready as we can be, considering the circumstances," said Other John.

They took a deep breath and started to run. It didn't take long for the Sontarans to notice.

"The criminals! They have been located!" one of them exclaimed. Immediately, all the Sontarans dropped the trellium spheres they were holding and headed for the Johns. Fat Lucas used the distraction to get to the generator, knock the technicians out with a few swift kicks, and get to work disabling the force field.

Meanwhile, the Johns were desperately fighting their way through the aliens. Most of the Sontarans were unarmed, since they had been using both arms to carry the spheres, but there were so many it was becoming impossible to just kick and punch their way through.

"John!" yelled Bald John as he tried to disable two Sontarans at once. "I'm not getting very far!" The combination of a high density of opponents and balls all over the ground made it difficult to move, much less stay alive.

"Me neither," Other John yelled back. One of the few armed Sontarans managed to jab his hand. Other John felt a jolt of overwhelming pain and realized he could no longer move his entire left arm. Distracted, he almost tripped on a sphere, but managed to kick it away before he could fall. Then inspiration hit as he realized the balls were firm but hollow in a very familiar way.

Other John imagined himself back on the County Ground, wearing his Swindon-red kit, husband by his side. Instead of alien backsides, he saw the back of the net. And instead of Sontaran trellium field-generating spheres, he saw footballs. He started kicking the spheres, knocking out the Sontarans and clearing a path to the TARDIS.

Bald John saw how Other John was using the spheres to attack the Sontarans and immediately followed his example. They even got some passes in, backing each other up when a ball wasn't readily available. Other John forgot the throbbing pain in his arm, intent on reaching their beloved police box.

"Force field's down—go for it, boys!" Fat Lucas yelled. The Johns made a final run into the TARDIS.

"Shut the door!" said Bald John. "I'm going to initiate an emergency reboot and escape sequence!"

"What?" Other John ran to close the TARDIS door with his unharmed hand.

"Hopefully, resetting the main programming will make the TARDIS functional enough to get us out of here."

"So you're basically turning it off and on again."

"Do you have a better idea?" Bald John retorted. He punched a few more buttons and all the lights went out as the ship powered down. The lights came back on a few seconds later and a familiar chiming sound filled the room.

"I didn't know the TARDIS ran on OS X," Other John chuckled.

"Come on, come on…" Bald John mumbled, staring intently at one of the console monitors. They heard the TARDIS vworp, and after several moments of calm the Johns were able to relax.

"Is this—did it—I mean, are we safe now?" asked Other John.

"If what we're seeing here is right, we should be in the FIFA 14 universe, in orbit around Earth, October 18, 2013," Bald John said, beaming. He went to hug Other John, but his joy turned to alarm when he saw that his husband's face was contorted in pain. "What happened to you? Are you OK?"

"Oh, I just got tased with some alien cattle prod or something. Doesn't hurt too bad…" Other John's voice trailed off as he collapsed onto the floor, clinging to his arm.

"Oh my god, you're hurt!" Bald John ripped off Other John's jacket and gasped at what he saw. There was a small burn mark on John's hand, like he'd suspected, but radiating out from the burn and up his arm were bright yellow streaks. Bald John removed Other John's shirt and saw that the streaks had spread over most of his torso.

"What's happening?" mumbled Other John. His eyes were glazed over and he struggled to stay conscious.

"That alien taser must've contained some sort of poison or something, and it's spreading quickly," answered Bald John. He looked around frantically. "Does the TARDIS have a first aid kit? Maybe there's an antidote or something—"

"Don't bother, John," Other John interrupted. "I think I'm dying."

"No. No! Please don't give up!" cried Bald John, a tear rolling down his face.

"It's OK—we're time lords, remember? I'll just regenerate."

"Oh, right. Have you ever regenerated before?"

"Nope. Let's hope it comes naturally…and for your sake, let's hope I regenerate into a humanoid…" Other John winked, and Bald John smiled through his tears. The glow of regeneration energy started emanating from his body. "Stand back!" Bald John backed away and watched from behind a bulkhead.

Other John slowly stood up as his body began to glow. Suddenly, his head jerked back and streams of golden energy shot out of his neck and arms. Bald John watched in awe as Other John's body shook and burned. The whole TARDIS trembled with the force of his regeneration. Then slowly, the regeneration energy began to wane.

"What do I look like?" asked Other John excitedly, wiggling his extremities and jumping up and down. He looked down at his arm and bare chest. "The wound seems to be gone, at least!" Bald John walked over and held Other John's face between his hands, peering closely.

"You look…pretty much the same, actually—"

"What? That doesn't—"

"Except for your hair, John. You're…you're a ginger now!" Bald John reached over to the console and flipped one of the monitors around to reveal a mirror. "See? Damn, your hair is even brighter than Rampage's!"

"Whoa," marveled Other John. He ran his hands through his new locks. "I can't believe it—my face is the same, my body doesn't feel any different, but the only thing that's really regenerated is my hair."

"Maybe now Manager John will finally stop trying to buy all professional football players with red hair," quipped Bald John. As they laughed, he scrutinized his own reflection. "You know, I think I should lose the goatee. It looks kind of dumb, doesn't it?"

"Don't you dare!" exclaimed Other John. "New FIFA, new team, new facial hair." The partners in life and love embraced, happy and relieved to finally be out of danger.

"Now let's land so that we can get out of this thing and start life with AFC Wimbledon!"

THE END?


End file.
